Never Would Have Thought
by CrookshanksTheCat
Summary: Hermione's going through really tricky times. Harry notices, but he isn't very good at dealing with it.


**Hope you enjoy it. :)**

Harry was extremely worried.

She was so thin. She was unhealthy, sad. She was tired.

No-one else could tell. Because, contrary to popular belief, Hermione Granger was a very good liar.

She laughed at jokes, thundered around angrily when she was upset, got worried about her schoolwork… Hermione was acting perfectly normal. But, every so often, she'dd slip. Harry would catch glimpses of her reality.

She didn't really pay so much attention in classes anymore. She sat with a glazed look in her eyes, trying to sit up straight but looking tremendously tired. No-one could tell, because she still stuck her hands up to answer questions. She still got them right.

But Harry could tell. Because she still answered the questions, just not with the enthusiasm that she used to.

She wasn't sleeping properly. Harry often came across her very late at night, curled up in an armchair, books in front of her. She was frustrated that she hadn't done well enough in classes recently, and was trying to make up for lost time. No-one could tell, because she _always_ studied late into the night.

But Harry could tell. She was curled up each night reading the same books. Over and over, as though she hadn't memorised them properly.

And, most notably of all - she wasn't eating properly.

Or at all.

No-one could tell. She still piled her plate. She still daintily nibbled her food.

But Harry could tell. Because she filled her plate with salad and greens, no longer ate her favourite meals. She nibbled even more daintily than before. Keyword: _nibbled_.

And there was one more thing. The worst of all.

He had been sitting in front of the fire, running his stubby fingers up and down the velvety arm of the chair. It was late. He was thinking about Hermione.

 _Should I tell Ron?_

 _Am I being paranoid?_

 _Is she okay?_

 _What is going on?_

Now he was pacing up and down the room. He sighed. Maybe some nutrition would help. He padded to the portrait door and opened it as silently as he could.

Harry's midnight feast had been a success. After sneaking to the kitchens with his invisibility cloak, he had a wonderful feast (courtesy of the house elves) and calmed down significantly. He was full and sleepy and cheerful, and he'd had proper time to think. He'd come to the conclusion that _he was overreacting_. She was reading the books over and over because she _liked_ them. She wasn't really tired in class - Harry was imagining it. She was eating. She just wasn't as fond as unhealthy food as she used to be. Hermione was _fine_. Besides, if there was something she was going through, she could handle it herself. She'd be perfectly alright. She was _Hermione_. Whatever it is - _if_ it was something - it couldn't be that hard, could it?

Harry continued to walk back to the common room from the bottom-floor kitchens to the common room on the third floor. He hurried past Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, still wary of the place since his weird experiences with the ghost in his second year. But suddenly, he heard a strange noise. He stopped, listening out. Filch? Mrs Norris? Who was there? Did they hear him?

He heard the noise again. It didn't sound like footsteps, someone walking the corridors, a teacher on the lookout for students out of bed. It sounded like a muffled sob. Harry couldn't be sure, though.

Then came a noise that was MUCH more clear. Harry knew that it was strange, but he had no doubt in his mind that he just heard the sound of someone vomiting.

Harry, being Harry, rushed in to help, concerned. When he got in, he heard weeping, a sound so horribly sad that it made him want to crumple up into a ball on the ground. It was genuine, sad crying. It wasn't a bratty cry or crocodile tears, it was real sobbing that sounded like pure sorrow, misery and woe. Harry was struck dumb. He knew the feeling of utter despair and just all-around gloom, like nothing would ever get better. He wouldn't wish that on _anyone_ , yet her was this person, living what sounded like a point of agony in their life according to those tears. He walked over to the locked cubicle where the weeping was coming from, shrugging off the invisibility cloak, and, taking a deep breath, knocked on the door.

The weeping stopped. A breath was held.

"Um… I…" said Harry awkwardly. "Are you okay? I mean… I heard you crying and um… being sick and I just… wondered if you were okay. And stuff."

Silence.

"Honestly, I don't think you're okay," Harry continued. "Could I… Can I… come in?"

There was a sniff and the sound of what Harry assumed was the person standing up. More sniffles came as the person opened the door.

"No," said Hermione.

Harry was shocked. There was Hermione Granger, Harry's best friend. Stood there, brown hair bushier than ever and in desperate disarray, nose runny and eyes red. She was desperately trying to hide her tears, sniffing furiously and looking at Harry lividly.


End file.
